


Blood Tinted Glasses

by mthrfkrgdhrwego (universalchampbalor)



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Drug Dealing, Kayfabe Compliant, Kinda, M/M, Nostalgia, Prostitution, References to Drugs, Reminiscing, Watching Someone Sleep, but (shrug), but in my mind they'll always be the same person, graphic description of mox getting his head sliced open, i guess, i know that as far as kayfabe is concerned, i watched so many of mox's old promos when i had a migraine and this is what happened, it's implied in like one sentence, it's not a good sort of reminiscing, jon moxley looks like dean ambrose and like died in a back alley years ago, kinda???, post Shield breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 14:39:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13859838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universalchampbalor/pseuds/mthrfkrgdhrwego
Summary: Dean tries to think about life before Roman. It’s gotten harder and harder to remember his childhood.





	Blood Tinted Glasses

It’s rare that they get days off. Between filming for SmackDown and Raw, doing house shows, filming PPVs, and training, there’s never enough time to lounge around a hotel room that’s always too small for two large men. So, whenever a day comes around that they don’t have to be in the ring, or driving nonstop, or doing an amount of training that would kill a lesser man, Dean always makes sure they get the most of it.

‘Getting the most of it’, to Dean, means lazing around in bed until 2 pm and then maybe leaving the hotel room for food. Most of the time he’d just order room service and stay in his underwear all day, watching poorly written reality TV or running bad commentary on old matches. There’s almost always some drinking involved, though how much depends on the amount of time between then and his next on-screen appearance.

For Roman, ‘getting the most out of it’ meant waking up early and doing something productive. He’s wondered out loud multiple times how he and Dean have made it this far without throttling each other. The exasperated question is almost always met with a leer and an eyebrow wiggle, as well as a poorly executed joke about choking.

Roman wore himself out yesterday during his match on Raw, so, for once, he’s more than happy to sleep until at least noon. He’s curled up against Dean’s side, one leg tangled with the younger man’s. There’s an arm wrapped around his chest like a seatbelt holding him to the bed, but Dean doesn’t mind. He’s been up for three hours, but he’s fine watching TV and looking at Roman. He always looks handsome, but when he sleeps, a softness falls over his features that can never be seen otherwise. His lips are half parted in something akin to a snore, and his hair is escaping his bun, plastering itself across his forehead.

Dean tries to think about life before Roman. It’s gotten harder and harder to remember his childhood. Call it repression or dealing with it or getting over it, but it’s spotty, blurry, bits and pieces here and there.

He remembers the East End, the group housing. He remembers pushing dope because he had to in order to stay alive. He remembers his mom trying her hardest and still not being good enough for others, remembers her working the street corner by their house. He remembers the drugs, the violence, the sound of gunshots echoing in his young ears.

Even his time as Moxley feels distant, like a movie he once watched and couldn’t be bothered to remember. He remembers how at home he felt with blood coating his face, with his skin cracked open to reveal liquid rubies in his veins. He remembers the feeling of barbed wire and glass piercing his arms and back, of them getting stuck when he tried to pry himself free. He remembers, with troubling clarity, the whirring of a handheld saw, the way the teeth tore into his forehead, the curl of pain and nausea in his stomach as Brain Damage tried to crack his skull like an egg. The scars won’t let him forget those days.

FCW and developmentals feel like they’re just out of reach, up until he met _Leakee._ He was already Ambrose at this point, but the name was new, felt sticky on his tongue, too far from his own. The moment he laid eyes on Roman, everything fell away. Seth, the man who would become like his brother and betray him with a chairshot to the back, would become nothing more than an obstacle.

Sure, he and Roman hated each other at first. It was. Well, it was rough, in the beginning. He thought Roman was entitled. Something about him shooting to the top because of his family’s history in the business tore away Dean’s respect before he could even earn it. But he was gorgeous, and because of the Shield, they had to spend more than enough time with each other.

He remembers their first kiss like it was yesterday. It was right after Seth’s betrayal, bodies still sore and bruises still forming. He remembers the sting of whiskey on his tongue and the pain that radiated beyond his physical injuries, down to his core. He remembers remembering why he didn’t trust people. He remembers Roman helping him into their hotel room, remembers desperately clinging to him and pressing their lips together in a desperate promise of, ‘ _I won’t leave you’_.

He never had this with any of the others. With Seth, and Jimmy, and Sami, his past was always right there, on the edge of his every move, every thought, every feeling. It was terrifying, not being able to live in the moment with people who, at the time, felt like his best shot at happiness.

But now, he’s good.

They’re good.  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm tonyknees on Tumblr! Come bug me!


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